


Another Place

by MissjuliaMiriam



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (woops lol), Angst, Episode Tag, FRP Missing Scene, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Other, Spoilers for Final Resting Place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 05:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19222753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjuliaMiriam/pseuds/MissjuliaMiriam
Summary: My take on the missing scene from Final Resting Place. You know the one.





	Another Place

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, so this qualifies as a fill for my Bad Things Happen Bingo square "Hope is Scary", if that tells you anything about the sort of fic this is. I'm... very sorry.
> 
> Bastille's new album dropped today and "Bad Decisions" and "Another Place" and "Those Nights" all just give me SUCH big fucking Juno feels, but "Another Place" in particular was practically written FOR Final Resting Place feels. So. Here we are. This is very short and I wrote it very quickly and I'm dead now. Goodbye, cruel world.

> _I am bound to you with a tie that we cannot break_  
>  _With a night that we can't replace_  
>  _I'm lost but found with you in a bed that we'll never make_  
>  _It's a feeling we always chase_
> 
> -  _Another Place_ , Bastille

_That sounds exciting, too_.

And it is—or, maybe _exciting_ isn't the word. Not that Nureyev isn't, hasn't been, not that every moment with him doesn't make Juno's heart race, the blood rushing in his ears. But right now, with the world cast in black and white, night time lights falling through the window to lie languorous on Nureyev's skin... it's more than exciting. It's something different from exciting.

Really, it's just. It's just so much. Juno kisses Nureyev's throat, his collarbone, all the delicate bones that push up against his skin and define his shape until he feels like he knows what Nureyev looks like on the inside as well as he's learning his outside. And Nureyev kisses and touches in return, tracing those clever fingers over every inch of Juno's skin, slipping beneath Juno's clothes with such deft softness that Juno hardly knows it's happening until his shirt is hitting the floor. They kiss again, _again_ , and Juno loses his mind a little bit, unwilling to think about anything other than what's happening right now.

Nureyev lays Juno on his back on the bed, naked now, with the delicacy of a man laying flowers on a grave, and then he kisses Juno's lips like he's giving the kiss of life, breathing into his lungs, fervent and vivid and _present_. Juno gives back as good as he gets, grasping at Nureyev's shoulders, pulling him down until they're flush, every inch that can possibly touch touching. Juno feels like he should be desperate, but he's not—everything he needs is here. Nureyev is here.

Nureyev sits up and finishes shrugging out of his shirt, and unbuttons his pants. Juno, trapped under him, can only watch. He feels... awed. Nureyev is so beautiful, stunning in the half-light of Juno's new vision, and yet Nureyev's own attention is so fixed on Juno himself. The moment his clothing is dealt with his eyes return to Juno, trailing over him like a touch, taking in every inch of bared skin, his scars and his imperfections; he deems all of it worthy just by looking, Juno can see it in his eyes. He shivers under the attention, arches, displays himself in a way that he really never does—rarely does he feel that he's worth looking at, and he's not sure of it now, but Nureyev so clearly _wants_ to see him, to touch him, to be _with_ him.

Then they're coming together again, bodies sliding together, and sensation runs through Juno, so encompassing that he can't be sure whether it begins inside him, deep in his gut, tight in his chest, or if it's bleeding into him from his skin. Every part of him feels warm, _hot_ , and Nureyev stokes the fire.

So many times, when Juno has felt so full up with desire, hungry and wanting, time has sped past in a desperate race for completion. It's not like that with Nureyev. (Nothing is like it has been before, with Nureyev. Maybe it's because the first point of contact is not Nureyev's hands on his skin, or Juno's lips on Nureyev, or any other tangible thing; it's something deeper.) Instead, they take their time with one another, lingering over each moment, each new sensation. Both of them are clearly practiced in the ways of others peoples' bodies, but they are new to each other, and there's a deep delight every time one of them makes the other gasp in a new way, whispering soft direction or simply letting the other explore. Juno's fingertips pressing into Nureyev's spine; Nureyev's sharp teeth on Juno's nipples; Juno's leg wrapped around Nureyev's hip to bring them even closer; Nureyev's palm pressed to Juno's belly, holding him down, secure, as he makes a small amount of space for both of them to breathe before diving back into the pool of sensation, so deep it seems never-ending. It's all good. It goes on for what must be hours.

(Maybe not. Somewhere in Juno's mind he's still aware of the distant sound of Hyperion's unending traffic, the quality of light that filters in through the window, and the aching, agonizing tiredness threaded through his marrow. It's not past midnight yet. Tomorrow will be a new day.)

But all mountains have a peak, and climbing together tends to get a person to it faster; eventually, an end comes. Juno shouts Nureyev's name, which makes Nureyev whimper, a soft, vulnerable noise, and then he follows Juno to the precipice and over, trusting.

They exchange words there, lying in the rumpled sheets: _If you're a fool, that makes two of us_.

And then Nureyev falls asleep, and Juno lies there and feels the shadows of the night creep over him. Every breath that passes those lips is precious, all the more because Nureyev has, for whatever reason, trusted Juno to guard them. He sleeps deeply, easily, but Juno just... doesn't. He lies awake. He watches. He stares at Nureyev, and he thinks about everything that they've done together. He runs the memories of the night they just shared over and over in his mind until he feels like he should have rubbed them smooth within his own mind, but instead they only grow more and more jagged.

The problem is that there's a screaming, scarred thing in Juno's mind that shrieks insistently that this is not _real_. Every promise Peter Nureyev has ever made to Juno is a promise he could break so, _so_ easily. The words of love, the reverent touch... there's no way to know. It's impossible to trust. Juno found Peter in a dark place, in the shadow of death, and now he's somehow managed to walk out of that shadow, and now he has to _keep_ walking... but he has no way to know if Nureyev will walk behind him. He can't, _won't_ , bind Peter to himself to guarantee it. Instead, he's forced to simply walk, to move forward, and hope that once he stands in the light once more, Nureyev will stand behind him.

But what if he doesn't, that little voice whispers. What if he's already gone, and you just don't know if yet? Hope will burn, _does_ burn, because it's not something Juno's felt in a long time, and the last time he hoped like this, _feared_ like this, he turned around and found out that he was alone after all. For damn good reason, he thinks, and closes his eye on Nureyev's sleeping face. It could happen again, and if it does, he's not going to blame Nureyev one bit for getting out while he has the chance. It'll be his own damn fault for his own damn failure, and Nureyev will be gone, lost who knows where and probably hurting, hurt by Juno, and he's not going to condemn Nureyev to that.

Juno gets out of bed very, very quietly. Nureyev doesn't wake; Juno doesn't look at him. He gets dressed and finds his keys and walks to the door.

Behind him, a sleeping sigh: _Juno_.

Juno looks over his shoulder. Peter is still there.

 _He'll never forgive me_ , Juno thinks. He walks out the door anyway, into Hyperion's blinding lights, and leaves Nureyev in the dark.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me in comments and/or on twitter @flippinnazguls


End file.
